In the Kitchen
by Angelina K
Summary: A short little story from Grandma's POV as she tries desperately to keep her grandsons away from her freshly baked goods...


The smell of freshly baked cookies hangs in the air as I check on the tray already cooling on top of the stove. It's another day in the Tracy household, and when you have five grandsons who seem to have never-ending pits where their stomachs should be, you always have to be baking things. This is especially true if they have just returned from a nerve-racking rescue and desire only to curl up on the couch with a plate of warm cookies and a tall glass of milk like they did when they were young.  
  
One of the toughest jobs I have is trying to keep the boys away from the goods until they are cool enough to eat. As their grandmother, it is only right that I save them from humiliation as they hop around the kitchen while their mouths are on fire from steaming chocolate chips. It tends to amuse their siblings and they think twice about reaching for their own share of the baking. If only I could get them to listen to my warnings before they bite off chunks of cookie and start the routine of expressing just how much their tongues are burning.  
  
Out of the corner of my watchful eye, I see a shadow move and instantly recognize Virgil's figure as he tries to sneak into the kitchen and smuggle a biscuit off the aluminum sheet. I chase him away, smacking his arm with my oven mitt as he leaves the room in defeat.  
  
As I turn back to my cooling pie on the windowsill, I am just in time to see Scott disappearing out the door, four steaming biscuits in his grasp. I shake my head, knowing the young men have planned Virgil as the distraction so I would not notice the eldest taking off with a fair supply of food. They're tricky boys, I know that very well since I've lived with them for so many years.  
  
After I take the next tray out of the oven, I find myself swatting Gordon back from the plate of cookies I've already set out in preparation for dinner. There is not enough food in the world to satisfy him and his brothers and even though I try my hardest to make sure there's enough for them to eat, they seem to consume more than a pride of starving lions.  
  
I glance around the kitchen, seeing the plate of cookies Gordon had his eye on, an apple pie cooling on the windowsill and the tray of biscuits for the picnic Alan and Tin-Tin are taking tomorrow afternoon. There's also the second tray of cookies that I presently hold in my gloved hand. I place it gently down on elements of the stove and lean against the counter, satisfied with my creations.  
  
The only thing left to come out of the oven is dinner - roast chicken, one of the boys' favourites. I know I'll be fighting them off like flies in the midsummer sun after they see this mouthwatering concoction I've come up with for supper. I spin around at the sound of footsteps and glare at my son Jeff as he enters the kitchen. I know he's looking to get his hands on some cookies, but I have to play my role as his mother and not let him eat now. He'll surely ruin his appetite.  
  
He holds his arms up in a gesture of surrender as he opens the cupboard door and removes a tall glass. Jeff fills it with water and takes a casual sip, waiting for me to turn away. I know what's he planning; he's as sneaky as his sons. I cross my arms and wait for him to leave so I can finish tending to my baking.  
  
When he just smiles at me and takes another swig of his drink, I let my guard down and go back to carefully sliding the biscuits off their metallic sheet. That's when I see the arm extend and stealthily snatch a cookie off the plate. I turn and frown at Jeff, the spatula pointing accusingly in his direction.  
  
"I saw that," I tell him, though I'm sure he already knows.  
  
Jeff shrugs and sticks the cookie in his mouth as he refills his cup with more water. "Thanks for the snack," he mumbles around his treat before leaving me alone in the kitchen. I look after him, thinking how much his sons remind me of my own.  
  
The main way you can tell they're related, you ask?  
  
They'll all do anything for a cookie. 


End file.
